Mark looked at them, then at the general, then at Elise. His confidence vanished, replaced by raw fear.
“You can’t do this.”
General Hayes did not blink.
“She can.”
At the threshold, Mark turned back. His gaze dropped to the bassinet.
For the first time since entering, he looked at our daughter.
Not with tenderness.
With panic.
“Is she mine?” he asked.
The question hit harder than any insult.
I rested my hand on the edge of my daughter’s bassinet.
“She is a child,” I said. “Not evidence.”
The officers escorted him out.
Only then did my body begin to shake.
Not from fear.
From release.
Part 3: Grace
A nurse moved to my side.
“Colonel Whitmore, breathe with me.”
I tried, but the tears came anyway. I cried quietly, one hand over my mouth so I would not wake my daughter. I cried for the marriage I had tried to save long after it started sinking. I cried for the woman I had been the night before, still hoping Mark might remember who he used to be.
